


The Blood of Thinking Creatures

by Nebulad



Series: Dawn and Other Stolen Pleasures [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Blood, F/M, bite scene, minor spoilers for Astarion as PC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 11:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: “I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear. I just needed...well, blood.” She blinked, and he felt rather pinned under her eyes, like a butterfly for display. ”I’m a vampire,” he clarified pointlessly, keeping his voice low on the off chance that one of their motley crew were awake and listening. He obviously wasn’t a doctor, and there were only so many reasons a person would want another’s blood.“Obviously. Were you just going to kill me?”He didn’t know what to address first. “Of course I wasn’t going to...what do you mean,obviously?”
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate), astarion/original character
Series: Dawn and Other Stolen Pleasures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214123
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	The Blood of Thinking Creatures

_ Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. _

Astarion gnawed at his thumb, his eyes darting between his sleeping companions. Shadowheart and Lae’zel would murder him without even pausing to find out he was a vampire, so they were out. Gale was...strange and sour in a way that was too much of a risk to try drinking, like a fetid bog puddle with the reflection of a hag in it. Wyll was a renowned monster hunter so that just seemed to be inviting trouble…

His eyes fell to Trinity, who was also the only one sleeping out in the open. The others had retreated to the shade of their tents and away from the fire after an unusually hot day where they’d spent dawn til dusk steadily slaughtering their way through the goblin horde; she was a little more heat resistant and a little less fond of enclosed spaces, he’d noted. He was also fairly sure that she was deeply asleep, and wouldn’t instinctively blast his head off his shoulders.

Or, he could go into the woods and try to find another infuriatingly clever animal to eat…

_ Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. _

But then he’d never know.

Besides, to call himself a hunter would be to call Lae’zel a poet. He was doing badly and it hadn’t mattered  _ so  _ much at first, but as the days wore on...well, he hardly wanted to be the first one to succumb to the tadpole because he was too soft to hunt anything bigger than a rat. He took a slow, steadying breath and crouched, soundlessly making his way to where Trinity was sleeping. The horns were going to be complicated to maneuver, but at this point he was just nitpicking; he’d never done this before, and as hungry as he was he didn’t also want to accidentally murder her in her sleep.

Another breath. He didn’t  _ need  _ to breathe, but he did need to trick his brain into thinking that he was calm. He suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about accidentally hitting something he couldn’t take back and killing her; it was a very funny image of blood splurting everywhere, or it would be if she were anyone else, or if anyone else in their camp were as tolerant of him. They would  _ know  _ he killed her, or they would suspect, because he wouldn’t know how to react to the idea of killing her—

—she rammed her elbow directly into his nose, and he yelped and fell backwards, only narrowly avoiding the fire pit. He scrambled to his feet, ready to dodge whatever thunderwave came next.

“Astarion? What in the hells are you doing?” she asked, her eyes darting around camp to see if they woke anyone. A part of her seemed to understand that whatever was happening, it wasn’t something they wanted to share...or maybe she would. He’d find out in a moment.

The silence dragged on, even after he’d straightened out. He didn’t know why he didn’t just brush it off, say that he thought he saw a bug on her or that he was watching her sleep for some odd reason. It would be  _ strange,  _ but not so strange as having attempted to drink her blood in the dead of night.

“Well?” she asked again, and for a moment he did consider lying again. It’d be a clean slate, but...ultimately, it would be for nothing. He’d only be back here in two more nights, starving worse than he was and still  _ not knowing  _ if he could drink from her. Both sounded intolerable.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear. I just needed...well, blood.” She blinked, and he felt rather pinned under her eyes, like a butterfly for display. ”I’m a vampire,” he clarified pointlessly, keeping his voice low on the off chance that one of their motley crew were awake and listening. He obviously wasn’t a doctor, and there were only so many reasons a person would want another’s blood.

“Obviously. Were you just going to kill me?”

He didn’t know what to address first. “Of course I wasn’t going to...what do you mean,  _ obviously?” _

“The red eyes, the fangs, the boar we found where  _ you  _ brought up vampires, how you don’t mind mucking around in mud but you won’t cross running water for ‘the sake of your boots’…” She even did the air quotes. How humiliating.

“...well now I just feel foolish.”

She laughed quietly, still mindful of their volume despite the edge of hysteria. “ _ So _ sorry about embarrassing you, but I’d love to hear what exactly you thought you were doing?”

“I  _ wasn’t  _ going to hurt you. I just needed a little bit: I’m too slow to hunt, too weak.” He told himself there was no point in explaining Cazador to her, nor his compulsions. It would only make him look selfish. “If I had a little blood I could think clearer.  _ Fight  _ better...” He was careful to keep his voice soft, with that slightly pleading quality he’d long since noted that she liked.

“How terrifying, to make you even  _ better  _ at killing things,” she said wryly, bringing her knees up to her chest. “You should have just told me.”

“You continually underestimate how willing the githyanki is to murder all of us for no reason, let alone given one.”

“I’m not talking about her, I said  _ me. _ I would have understood.”

“I’m glad to hear it: now you know  _ and  _ you can trust me.  _ Please,  _ Trinity.” There was something satisfying in the shiver she couldn’t suppress quickly enough; there was hope yet, for his experiment. Luckily, she seemed more susceptible to begging than Cazador.

“I  _ do  _ trust you. I’m even sorry I elbowed you.” He must have made a face, because she smiled. “It was funny, but I’m sorry for real.” He doubted that, but he never asked her to be. He’d have done worse with less reason to.

He kneeled, down to her level again. “Do you think you can trust me a bit further?” He dared to move closer, and was pleased when she didn’t immediately rebuff him. “I just need a taste. I  _ swear.”  _ This was where his absent flirtations paid dividends, if they were ever going to. He slid too close to be casual, and let their eyes meet. He waited.

“You’re awfully sweet when you want something,” she scolded, flicking his nose lightly. “Of course you can have blood, Astarion. I’m not going to starve you, but…” She made a face, unbuttoning her shirt a bit so she could push down her high-necked inner robe. His eyes trailed, because despite the lack of blood he wasn’t  _ dead _ and Trinity was a pretty bardling. “Is it going to hurt?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You have the dubious honour of being my first.”

“In two  _ hundred  _ years, you’ve never—”

“Animals, darling. I’ve never licked a fleck of a  _ person’s  _ blood off my mouth as it spattered on me.”

“Why not?” She seemed to require very little direction, adjusting their positions so she was all but nestled against his front, facing out towards the curiously empty ruin that served as the backdrop to their camp. It was the sort of position that would give her the necessary range of motion to tense up, but he supposed she would only be afraid if he suggested she make herself a bit more vulnerable.

“Don’t ruin the moment, dear. I’ll tell you later.”  _ He  _ didn’t want to ruin this: if it were really going to be his first taste of  _ actual  _ blood, then he didn’t want to mar the experience with Cazador’s spector, regardless of how ever-present the ghoul already was. “If it hurts too badly, just pull my hair or something.”

He didn’t expect her to laugh. “I don’t see why you should get to enjoy yourself for hurting me.” He rolled his eyes, leaning down so his mouth hovered over her neck. As he predicted, she immediately tensed. “I keep my money in my pillow,” she told him quietly. “Pay the odd skeleton to bring me back if you kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he scolded quietly, wondering if maybe he should endeavour to try and help her relax. He decided against it; she liked him, and she was certainly attracted to him (and him to her, which was a relief: this endless murder march would be unbearable dull without someone to make eyes at), but he’d seen firsthand how manipulative and  _ dark  _ it could get when one mixed blood-giving and love-taking. He was no Cazador, but part of him was certain that even his master hadn’t expected the raving, nor the pleading, nor the empty madness of a mortal who’d so mingled the experience of feeding and fucking that the two were indiscernable to them.

Maybe later they could try something with a little more structure.

“I don’t think you’ll do it on purpose, but you never know: maybe I have good blood.”

“One way to find out.” If he killed her, he’d pay to resurrect her himself and let it never be said he wasn’t a perfect gentleman about what would amount to manslaughter in a court of law (one that he was running, anyway). He bit down, surprised to find how immediately overwhelmed he was by the fact that he  _ could. _

Then the blood flooded into his mouth and simultaneously he and Trinity made noises wholly unbefitting the situation, but that he believed would absolutely encourage any half-dozing companions to stay in their tents. It felt like seeing colour for the first time, like  _ tasting  _ after two hundred years of drinking water (or worse). Trin’s fingers threaded through his hair and tightened, but he didn’t get the sense that it was her request for him to pull off...so he kept going, with one arm locked around her midsection and the other holding onto her horn for dear life.

Her blood was hot enough to scald him, but the feeling of it pumping down his throat was comfort and novelty rolled into one. He couldn’t compare it to anything—he hadn’t eaten actual food in over two hundred years, so perhaps when she inevitably asked how she tasted she might be disappointed by his answer—but it filled him with raw, mindless need. He’d felt mindless before—mindlessly afraid, mindlessly hungry, mindlessly angry—but he hadn’t slipped into mindless happiness...maybe ever.

Her fingers tightened weakly and pulled, and from somewhere far away he heard her clumsily try to tell him to stop; somehow, he found the will to pull off of her, running his tongue lightly along the bite marks. He’d seen Cazador do it millions of times, and could only hope that it served to stanch the wound and wasn’t just something weird he did. “Mm, of course,” he hummed, swallowing the last of it away. His most glorious rebellion yet, and it’d left him with an armful of drowsy tiefling blinking up at him like she was resurfacing from underwater. Her eyes fixated on his mouth, and his hand rose involuntarily to clumsily smear the blood he’d wasted on his own chin.

“That...that was  _ amazing,” _ he murmured, sounding absolutely  _ gutted.  _ She smiled, apparently pleased by his review despite his lack of eloquence and the fact that once again, for the first time in memory, he  _ sounded  _ like the sort of beast that drank blood. His chest heaved and his hands shook with the very memory of it. “I feel strong.  _ Happy,”  _ he continued, not only because it was true but because she may as well get her donation’s worth out of the experience. He felt like he could wrestle a bear to the ground.

So it was confusing when her expression grew dim. “Happy’s an odd word to use.”

“You’re telling me. Two hundred years of torment makes one a stranger to it.” But there he was, trying to school his face into something a little less than a dumb grin. No wretched dead things ever again: he could feed properly, and to hells if his intended victim could  _ think  _ about it. When he looked back at her, watching her strange solemnity about the whole thing, he felt a hard tug in his chest: it felt almost like  _ protectiveness.  _ Understandable, he supposed: she was irrevocably tied into this experience now, a tangible memory of both his rebellion and his first proper drink. She’d earned a little loyalty, for her trouble, and it wasn’t like he preferred anyone else in camp.

“You’re just making me sad now,” she scolded, then reached over and ran her hand through his hair again. He shivered, biting down on the impulse to bite her again. He wouldn’t share that part: no need to scare her. “Did I pull too hard?”

He grinned, more suggestively this time, and she rolled her eyes and swatted at him fondly. “I’ll live,” he assured her. “Turns out I can take a little hair pulling.”

“You could fool me. You high elven types are so  _ delicate.” _

“Not anymore.” He showed off a little, the feeling swirling in his gut making a proper fool out of him. He stood and held out his hand, letting her take it before dragging her to her feet without any effort at all. She swooned, in earnest although he might have preferred if it were an affectation, and he supported her weight with the barest effort of a single hand. She laughed, even as her eyes spun dizzily in her head. “You should rest,” he told her, pleased that she seemed properly impressed by his vampiric strength, unlike he’d ever experienced before.  _ Stronger than a mortal  _ was subjective:  _ as strong as a vampire  _ was a threshold he’d yet to explore. “I have to go kill something.”

“For fun?” she asked, letting him guide her back down to her bedroll.

“For food: you’re a delight, but I’m rather invested in keeping you alive so I can’t take too much from you.” With the strength he got off of a sip of her, though, he could slaughter something proper: not a rodent, but a wolf or a deer.

Or a bandit, should he get very, very lucky.

“Be careful,” she muttered, burrowing into her blankets (he’d probably made her especially cold, after it was already difficult for her to warm up). He felt that  _ tug  _ again, but filed it away for later. For now, he had a goal.

“This is a gift you know,” he murmured, watching for one of her demon-green eyes to flutter open to look at him from across the fire. “I won’t forget it.” She muttered something back he could hardly hear and quickly fell asleep, insomnia successfully beaten back by a lack of blood.

He resolved her find her some fruit while he was out hunting, to help ease some of the internal discomfort, not fully realising that he hadn’t taken a step out of camp until he was sure she’d fallen into a deep, restful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I know AO3 is like broadly and generally hostile for everyone but every time I post something I am forced at gunpoint to remember that they really left NB people entirely out of the very structure of posting fic. It's not the worst offence this terrible site has committed, but in a court of law it would be among the charges.
> 
> Anyway. I make interactive text fiction that you can find here ([link to itch.io hosting page](https://heartforge.itch.io/)). They're free demos so if you're itching for something to do in this never ending quarantine (shout out to the Canadian population not scheduled for vaccination until August) then feel free to go check out my stories about demons, witches, mob activity, sea captains, low level criminals, and post-apoc solarpunk science initiatives who hang out in dilapidated malls.
> 
> I thought I'd first post something for Wyll but I only just decided on what character to romance him with and Astarion has the distinct advantage of being the only male love interest who doesn't have an ex he's still in love with and describes to me at length. Not sure about the motivation there; I'm not even like, one of those extremely weird people who are like "I want my LI to behave as if I am the only eligible person in the whole world" types. It's just awkward, isn't it? Me, twirling my hair like "Ahaha, Gale you're so funny. Tell me more about the goddess of all magic that you had sex with—" Like would I not assume that is an Active Situation that I am walking into?
> 
> I guess it's an effect of early access, because right now Wyll and Gale's stories are _only_ their exes: Wyll's patron and Gale's goddess. Like they both obviously have other things going on but as far as narrative momentum, Wyll's arc is a buildup to finding out (him admitting, since we obviously know from the start which is kind of annoying from a _I want Wyll to have something to do_ perspective) that he's a warlock, and Gale's buildup to finally just telling you why he's a ticking time bomb of necrotic energy. Both are irrevocably bound in their exes, versus Astarion whose antagonist is more neutral in terms of regard (Astarion hates him, but also feels helpless against him).
> 
> Anyway, there's my piece on why I think fandom at large finds Astarion particularly compelling, outside of his frilly Preminger ass and how extremely horny all his scenes are. There's obviously other things at work, as there always is in fandom, but I do kind of resent the implication that the only reason anyone likes Astarion is blind horniness when he's the only one who's not half in love with someone else as I'm trying to get somewhere with him. I also think it's interesting on how obvious it is that he's trying to manipulate you, so my horse is in the race for "He thinks he has the upper hand at all times but is going to find out with alarming speed that Cazador didn't even let him properly eat for 200 years let alone date, so I don't think he's as prepared to betray us as he might think he is".


End file.
